


All in a days work

by ASOUEfan



Series: Mixed Mildred One-shots [2]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Doting Mildred, F/F, Hair Brushing, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, More Mildred looking for a soulmate fic, Teasing, Vague Mommy-kink if you squint, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29739819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Your Saturday job cleaning rooms at the Motel is a monotonous one, and Mildred needs a project. When she sees you, she knows with a little effort she clean you up and make you into something special.
Relationships: Mildred Ratched/Original Female Character, Mildred Ratched/Reader, Mildred Ratched/You
Series: Mixed Mildred One-shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2178909
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	All in a days work

The wheels of your cleaning cart squeak in complaint at being dragged across pale stones, lugging it along to the next room. The single storey sky blue building gave the impression of being more a holiday condo, all wooden and quaint with endless views, than a Motel.

There could be worse Saturday jobs, and Miss Louise was a very hands- _off_ boss. She has her newspapers to scour for gory facts about the latest murders in the town, which keeps her busy. For a small town like Lucia there always seems to be _something_ going on, a gossip piece running near every week. But even you have to admit a spate of priest-killings has put Lucia on the map, and you’ve never known this sleepy Motel so busy.

The sea breeze blows your hair, freeing strands from your already wild plait. Turning toward the wind, you close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep lungful of fresh air, enjoying how the fresh breeze cools down your sweaty uncomfortableness. You’ve worked like a pack horse all morning and still have all afternoon ahead of you. But this is the last room on the lot, closest to the end of the cliff and after this you’ll be done for lunch. Just gotta push through.

With a full body sigh you turn back to the building, snatch the ring of room keys from your cart and head inside. The same as every other room, you mooch about in a practiced fashion, stripping the bed and dumping the sheets by the door, swiping the towels from the bathroom and bundling the lot in your arms to dump outside in the laundry bag. Returning with a set of fresh bed linens tucked under one arm, plastic carrier of cloths and surface sprays in the other, you shut the door behind you and get to work.

You flutter the bed sheet out, tucking perfect corners with the fold line on the corner of the mattress, neat and quick - but unhurried. Your sort of perfection came only from doing this hundreds of times, week in week out, maintaining personal standards higher than that of Miss Louise. It might only be a weekend job, but the hospitality industry could take you places. A fancy hotel in the city, or a sunny resort on the coast perhaps?

Mildred tilts her head. From the other half of the adjoining room she has a clear line to observe you, all the while you’ve been so caught up in your work so you’ve yet to notice her. Her lips part slightly, her keen eyes focused on the way your hand smoothes the sheet across her bed and tucks the sides under. The care you take in it. The moss-green velvet bedspread comes next.

As you stuff her pillow inside its floral case and puff it up, she inhales at the sight of a slip of skin exposing itself at your waist. Mildred isn’t sure why it makes her pulse race. It’s only a few inches - that gap between your blouse and skirt, both faded and over-worn and cheap. Mildred could relate to that. Before she found her new wardrobe poised so elegantly on a faceless mannequin in the store (it was a crime to leave them there), she too had been, as one would call, _a plain jane._

Mildred is a self made woman. She has no family or money behind her to buy things that others so flippantly afford. You would understand that, appreciate things given to you.

That you have no clue you’re being watched, makes her observance all the more thrilling. Unhindered, it’s easy to deduce a hundred little things about you. Your plait gets thinner toward the end - so your hair is long from lack of care, rather than choice. It needs a cut but it isn’t your priority, nor has anyone else reminded you. So you don’t live with family. A mother would have taken care of the appointment for you. You have bare legs instead of stockings. So your background isn’t only one of simple means, but simple manners. A _lack_ of manners, perhaps, Mildred muses, running her fingers under her chin in thought. You’ve taken to spraying the mirror on her vanity table and were leaning to vigorously wipe it down.

Her eyes trail back up your body, your hips, your ribs, the flush to your cheeks from hard work. You toss your hair out of your eyes with increasing frustration, you were a mess but you didn't think there was anyone around to care. Mildred uncrossed her legs and stood, smoothing down the front of her skirt.

You notice the movement in the reflection of the mirror and gasp, jumping around knocking the vanity making her glass bottles rattle. “Geez! Sorry I - I thought all the guests were out for the day,” You fluster, letting out that kind of breezy laugh you only get from panic subsiding. “You been in here this whole time?” Your hand clutches around your middle as you pant and tell yourself theres no reason to be alarmed. Just the room guest.

Mildred clasps her hands together at her waist as she walks toward you. “You should be more observant of your surroundings.”

“Right. Sorry Ma’am,” You huff, needing to steady yourself on the vanity as she came close. _Too close._ Just as you are about to step back, the woman leans down and adjusts the position of the stool in front of the circular mirror. You snatch up your cloth and things out of her way. “I’ll be done in a jiffy.”

Mildred cheeks pinch as she pulls her lips into a smile, adept a crafting just the right kind of smile a person needed to see. “Sit.” She gestures to the stool, but you just look at it - then her - with a questioning expression. Mildred steps behind you and places her palms on your shoulders, gently pushing you down. She turns your upper body so you’re facing the mirror, placing herself behind you. “Why take such pride in the work you do, and not in your appearance?” She posits the question, though it feels more like it’s not really the one she’s asking.

You stare back at yourself in the mirror, the brightly tailored woman weaving her fingertips over your scalp and through your hair with abandon. Her other hand hans’t moved from your shoulders, and it feels too familiar a touch for someone you've never met before. “Um, I don’t know.” You mumble, blinking as you feel her yank and wiggle your hair elastic out. “Hey - what are you - “ You struggle to your feet and push back making a grab for it as you twist to stare at her. Mildred slaps your hand away with a tsk. “You don't have to - I can plait my own hair!” Your protests grow weaker under her unyielding gaze. Who is this woman? She felt like a teacher, or a lawyer, someone in authority. She knew how to be confident, demand what she wanted of a person. Of you. This is humiliating, and yet - yet you’re _wishing_ you’d waited for your stockings to dry this morning before rushing out the door for the bus because God, you're wet for her already.

A flick of her eyes back to the chair tells you to sit. With a slump of your shoulders you comply and you press your thighs together tightly. You’re not sure why you obey her, but she just carries herself so … steadily. Strong and firm like she’s used to whomever she’s talking to being compliant, submitting to her instruction. Undoing the plait and splaying your long hair wide across your shoulders, Mildred combs her fingers through it, fingering out any knots, the tension from her chest dissipating. You’d obeyed.

“The picture you show the world, is how they make their judgements of you.” Mildred begins, leaning purposefully over your shoulder to reach for one of her enamel backed hairbrushes, smiling to herself. She tenderly begins, each brush stroke slow and purposeful.

“I don’t really think about it.” You mumble, squeezing your hands between your knees feeling awfully awkward. What the hell are you going to do if you leave a stain on her stool? Your panties are useless right now. Why is she even brushing your hair out?! You don’t know her it’s insulting, belittling, and at the same time the hottest fucking thing you've ever experienced. She looks the sort of woman to be, experienced with girls your age. The way she’s doing it, the long sensual brushes, how her fingers stroke your silky hair? It feels so intimate. You adjust your skirt, shifting you weight through your hips slightly, clearing your throat.

“Why not?” Mildred gathers your hair into three lengths, plaiting your hair in a focused attentive fashion.

“No-one pays me much attention either way.” You huff, almost bitterly. You blink then, looking up at her reflection in the mirror and can’t help but blush. What compelled you to be so painfully frank in your answer? Mildred stares back at your reflection, dark determined eyes easily absorbing your paler blue ones.

“Aren’t you married?” Her voice drops huskily.

“Me? No,” You laugh at the thought. “One day I suppose, but no - no way there’s things I want to do first,” Your answer trips out of you too quickly. Too honest. Tying off the tight plait she's worked for you, you feel her body lean close behind you and your cheeks are hot and your core is burning and how she’s looking at you now? She _knows_. You know she knows.

“Things? Or, people?” Mildred’s breath rolls hotly over your neck, and she parts her lips, taking your earlobe in her teeth - and sensually sucks on it. 

“I - ohh …,” You pant headily, unconsciously letting your head slowly roll to one side giving her your neck. _Mark me_ , you want to say. _Bite me bruise me make me yours._

“There are all kinds of people in this world, you simply need to find the ones, who are most like you,” Mildred purrs, wrapping one arm around your whole self, pinning your arms in your lap and your body to hers and you melt against her.

“Are… are you like me?” Your words stagger from somewhere deep inside you, yet sound nothing more than a whine. Daring to ask such a thing, a deviant thing so dark and precious you’ve kept it locked up safe and yet, this woman -  sees it. Sees you.

“Lift your skirt, and I’ll show you.”


End file.
